Piano was Bonis’s primary compositional outlet, and her piano works document the entire development of her style from 1881 (when she wrote her first student work, the Impromptu, Op. 1) to her last piece for piano solo in 1932. A close analysis of her oeuvre allows us to see that her shift from romanticism to impressionism was neither instant, nor fully embraced. Essentially, her transition, or better yet evolution, unfolded in three stages. Since she has never fully abandoned romantic practices, particularly in terms of musical form, I cannot claim that she ever became a representative member of the impressionist movement.
Yet, there is no denying that Debussy set the trend for many of his contemporaries, and he undoubtedly exerted his influence on Bonis from the very beginnings of her career as well, which we can see by comparing his early works, such as his Piano Trio in G Major (written in 1880), with most of her works written between 1881 and 1900.
The following period (approximately 1900–1920) signals a departure from her romantic style in favor of extended chords and non-diatonic scales. Larger works for piano solo, such as La Cathédrale blessée, Op. 107, as well as numerous orchestral and chamber music works, such as the remarkable Piano Quartet in B-flat Major, are representative of her most productive, mature period.
Her final, late period, is characterized by a return to compact forms, the majority of which are between one and two minutes long. It begins in the early 1920s with her Au crepuscule (At Dusk), Op. 111, a pivotal piece, and concludes with her last piece for piano, Dolorosa, Op. Posth. 138, which she wrote in 1932. Since she rarely dated her manuscripts, it is difficult to determine accurately when certain works were composed; however, she likely wrote very few of them beyond this point, mostly due to the severe depression brought on by the tragic loss of her son, which tormented her during the final years of her life.
5 Pièces pour piano
According to the Italian historian and art critic Venturi, the essential principle of impressionism can be traced back to the need of finding a new, realistic way of depicting natural elements on canvas, the shimmering water of the Seine being the main source of intrigue for Monet, Renoir, and Pissarro around the 1870s. Many are familiar with Ravel’s “Ondine” from his suite Gaspard de la nuit, in which the composer achieves a similar effect—albeit aurally, not visually. Even though we cannot claim that she ever fully embraced the impressionist idea, Bonis was clearly fascinated by the movement, as is shown by her fondness for extramusical content, particularly illustrating scenes from the nature and rural life (almost as if Madame Domange longed for something besides the glamour of the Parisian streets and sought to escape from them by hiding in her own compositions).
Among her first published collection, 5 Pièces pour piano, the three pieces “Gai printemps” (Cheerful Spring), Op. 11; “Eglogue” (Shepherd’s Song), Op. 12; and “Aux champs” (In the Fields), Op. 13 evoke joyous feelings, reminiscent of a simpler life. The remaining two miniatures, her Prelude in E-flat Major, Op. 10 and her Minuet, Op. 14 are optimistically exuberant, and, despite their light-hearted character and short duration, truly challenging for the performer. From a technical point of view, her piano writing is extremely idiomatic; however, the presence of subtle counterpoints and interlocking melodies—much like we are used to seeing in the music of Robert Schumann—requires thorough preparation, both physical and mental.
Impromptu, Op. 1
On the manuscript of her Impromptu, Op. 1, dated 1881, the editors at Furore discovered the note “mon premiere morceaux” (my first piece), indicating that this might have been her first piece ever written. Nevertheless, several of her distinctive traits are already present: prolonged legato lines, a subtle polyphony, and technically challenging elements, which add a touch of liveliness to the texture—in this case, brisk repeated thirds that support the melody.
Rondo dans le genre ancient, Op. 7
Bonis’s Rondo in the Old Style was first published in 1893. This short piece is based on the simple ABA rondo form popular during the 18th century, prototypical of the scherzo movement that we are accustomed to hearing in classical sonatas. The outer sections are simple, lively, and dance-like, characterized by fast ornaments—mordents—which also appear in the middle part, considerably more lyrical and dramatic.
Près du Ruisseau, Op. 9
In the impressionist miniature By the Creek, we can see her fascination with imagery from the nature. The texture mimics the flow of the water, creating a gushing effect that acts as tapestry for the melody, which with great fluidity constantly switches registers as well. From a technical point of view, hand-crossings, which dominate several of her piano works, are prominently displayed. These gestures are rather physical in nature and require that the performer calculates each transition carefully, yet plays them freely enough in order to make them sound natural and flowing, just like water.
Pensées d’automne, Op. 19
Thoughts in Autumn was composed in 1894, and dedicated to the pianist of the famous trio of Chaigneau sisters, this song without words is a melancholic waltz, characterized by subtle colors, quiet sonorities, and an overall gentle character.
Berceuse, Op. 23, 1
The first of her two Lullabies bears the dedication “A ma petite Jeanne”, one of Mel’s daughters. While initially tender and fragile, the major challenge for the performer is to avoid getting carried away by the rich and moving sonorities and progressions as the piece unfolds, which can easily disrupt the overall character.
La chanson du rouet, Op. 24
Even though Mel Bonis was an accomplished pianist, and fond of shorter formal concepts, she did not follow in the footsteps of so many of her peers who composed at least one set of etudes. However, she did write two of them (the Concert Etude, Op. 136 and the Barcarolle-Etude, Op. 43) and, while technically and musically perhaps not as demanding as her two proper etudes, her Song of the Wheel could just as easily be labeled a study as well. The brisk broken chords in the right-hand part symbolize the rotary motion of the wheel and the particular difficulty is to avoid overshadowing the melody, which she placed in the tenor register beneath the dense accompaniment.
Ballade, Op. 27
Her largest single work for piano solo is a true masterpiece, comparable in scale to the Ballades of Chopin, and both musically and technically, just as challenging. Beginning with a delicate, still pastoral introduction, the narrative quickly develops into an alternating series of passionate eruptions and contrasting serene moments. The culmination, a triumphant coda, calls for a healthy degree of bravura and endurance, as performers find themselves at the top of the dynamic range and both hands engage in demanding passages in parallel octaves. Like most romantic pieces of this scope, it is emotionally and physically draining, but also demands an incredible delicacy of touch, which is necessary to evoke a vast variety of colors.
Papillons, Op. 28
Contrary to her ballade, her Butterflies is one of her shortest pieces, yet due to the amount of sudden changes, both in terms of dynamics and colors, also very rich. Lighthearted, and juvenile, this miniature is an ideal recital piece for aspiring pianists, showing us Bonis’s fondness for youth compositions.
Romance sans paroles en la bémol majeur, Op. 29
While she did not compose many pieces for cello, her cello sonata, two piano quartets, and a few shorter collaborative pieces featuring this instrument show that she was at the very least interested in it. In this Song Without Words Bonis introduces the melodic line beneath the right hand, very much in the register that is usually dominated by the lower strings.
Carillons Mystiques, Op. 31
One of the defining features of the Mystical Carillons is a recurring four-measure ostinato phrase, which symbolizes the musical pattern of a carillon, creating a repetitive background onto which two voices are set. The curious harmonies, which are created through the interaction between the repeating motive and leading voices provoke a rather particular, mystical effect. The harmonic language is tonal, yet the pervasive use of extended chords and pedal points generate truly unique colors.
This piece is particularly intriguing from a musicological perspective, too, as figuring out the intended accidentals was not entirely self-evident, as some passages span over several registers and are notated using 8va symbols, repeating certain accidentals, while omitting others. Although performers have to consider elements beyond notation—such as harmonic context and performance practices—we also have to assume the chance of editorial error, particularly in the case of relatively unknown works. In this particular instance, there are quite a few occasions where we reach an impasse, and resisting the urge to choose common sense over interpreting the material literally proved to be the right choice, as it resulted in truly exquisite and unique sonorities.
Méditation, Op. 33, 1
Two versions of this piece exist—the one for piano solo, which was recorded as part of this project, and one for cello and piano (Op. 33). The former essentially takes the melodic line and merges it with the accompaniment, making the piano version slightly more challenging, yet, more importantly, retaining all of its charm. Much like Massenet’s own “Méditation” from the opera Thaïs, Bonis’ rendition (which is likely unrelated) also juxtaposes a soaring melody over a steady and unobtrusive accompaniment; yet, contrary to Massenet, she makes use of a secondary voice, which interacts with the main one contrapuntally. This dynamic is obvious in the version for cello and piano, but can be nicely emulated in the solo version as well.
Marionnettes, Op. 42
A rather whimsical piece, probably inspired by her many works for children (which could unfortunately not have been included in this project), this piece (entitled Puppets) displays her ability to compose music for young pianists that is both within their grasp, yet not free of challenges. The polyphonic element is not as prevalent as in most of her other works, yet there is an abundance of occasions to bring out certain inner voices, which invite the performer to create interesting moments.
Barcarolle, Op. 41 and Barcarolle-Etude, Op. 43
Two barcarolles, both composed in 1899, conclude her early creative period. Gabriel Fauré, who composed thirteen barcarolles, was also more than familiar with the work of Mel Bonis, and particularly fond of her first piano quartet. We can draw several parallels between the styles of these two composers, from an impeccable clarity of form, to a sensible treatment of the melodic material, which manages to always remain in the foreground, despite being surrounded by a rich texture.
Both of her barcarolles are characterized by the typical swaying rhythm and long melodic lines, split between mostly thirds and sixths. However, while the first of the two presents them in a gracious and calm manner, the second turns them into a virtuosic element, which is when, after a graceful arpeggiated introduction, we finally understand why she chose the title etude. It is extremely challenging, particularly due to the intricacy, technical demand, and scope. To my knowledge, this is the premiere recording of this piece, as even an extensive search of popular online platforms and recordings archives yielded no results.
Femmes de légende
Her middle period is when we see her style reach a new stage of maturity, which we can clearly appreciate in her seven-piece collection entitled Femmes de légende or Legendary Women. Each piece strives to capture the character of a female legendary, mythological, or literary personality.
Mélisande is the central figure of the symbolist play Pelléas and Mélisande, written by Maurice Maeterlinck in 1893. Immediately following its first performance, the play inspired the entire artistic community (composers included), with Debussy leading the way in setting it to music. He started working on his homonymous opera immediately following the 1893 premiere and allegedly completed a preliminary version between 1893 and 1895; however, it would only see its full first performance in 1902, after a thorough revision. The following year, Arnold Schoenberg unveiled his own orchestral work—Pelleas und Melisande, Op. 5—which he revised twice, in 1911 and 1920. Jean Sibelius made his contribution, too, with his incidental music in the form of a suite— Pelléas et Mélisande, Op. 46—in 1905. Yet, the first work to receive a proper public performance was Fauré’s incidental music, which was commissioned in 1898 by Mrs. Patrick Campbell for its first British production, which took place later that June. Initially, Debussy was the one who had been asked to compose it, but had to refuse, as he was busy working on his own opera.
According to the publisher Furore Verlag, later that same year, Mel Bonis composed her own Mélisande, a short piano work characterized by many of the features that we are able to appreciate in the works from her early period—clear melodic lines that are often treated contrapuntally, a rich accompanying texture, and extended harmonies. Yet, this particular piece shows a far more progressive language than her opuses 41–43, which were in fact composed in 1899, making it difficult to believe that such an important shift could have occurred around that same time. The more probable date of composition is likely closer to the one claimed by the publisher Leduc, which dates the manuscript to 1922, which would better explain the presence of the whole-tone scale, characteristic of her later works.
The three pieces “Phoebé”, “Viviane”, and “Salomé” were first published as a collection in 1909. Christine Géliot describes the first of the three pieces with the following words:
“The sister of Phoebus, the sun, [Phoebe] symbolizes the moon, the night, chastity. The piece creates an impression of night. Steeped in twilight, languor and a sense of immense space, the atmosphere is one of unreality. This feeling of alienation is reinforced by the incoherence of rhythm between the two hands.”
The Lady of the Lake, “Viviane”, is portrayed in this miniature rondo form through the charming dance-like motion, reminiscent of Chopin’s Barcarolle, gracious ornaments, and an overall witty exuberance. For the first time, we can see her experimenting with meter changes, which she used more consistently in her later works.
The final piece of the original 1909 collection, “Salomé”, takes it a step further by making use of composite time signatures, pointing to her interest in expanding her vocabulary and practices. This device also serves a semiotic purpose, as it is probably used to better illustrate the iconic biblical tale featuring King Herod, Salomé, and her mother Herodias, who with the help of her daughter’s enchanting dancing is granted her perverse wish—the head of John the Baptist. Through the steady pulsating rhythm, the composer creates a sense of a certain military, authoritative, and regal presence, contrasted by exuberant and irregular passages, which in my opinion represent Salomé’s exquisite and enchanting dancing. The overall mood is somehow twisted and eerie, and culminates in the vile and violent decapitation.
Ophelie, which was not part of the original three-piece collection was also composed in 1909, but remained unpublished until 1998. It is also one of her most representative impressionist works, using a plethora of colors and techniques to evoke Hamlet’s lover and her tragic demise. Gracious sonorities, which represent her innate beauty and elegance, are juxtaposed to the enigmatic imagery of water, tied to ideas of sadness and ultimately death, symbolic of Ophelies’s mysterious drowning.
Omphale, the Greek queen of the kingdom of Lydia, was often associated with themes of sexuality and promiscuity. The eroticism and freedom of spirit are palpable throughout this exceptional work, incredibly complex and technically challenging. Until now, all existing recordings seem to have been based on the 1910 publication, which won a special composition prize, awarded by the German publisher Signale für die musikalische Welt (Signals for the Musical World). The version that I used for this recording project was the one published by Furore Verlag in 2003, which introduces a number of important changes, the most consequential of which is essentially the complete alteration of measures 52–55.
Finally, Desdémona portrays the Venetian beauty from one of the most iconic of Shakespearian plays, who is murdered by her husband, Othello. This short, melancholic piece from 1913 is characterized by a rather classical and retrospective style, which stands in stark contrast to the rest of the collection.
Romance sans paroles en sol bémol majeur, Op. 56
Published in 1905, this Song Without Words in Gb Major features the very same technique that the composer used in her Près du Ruisseau, Op. 9—continuous hand-crossings. This approach, which is rarely seen outside the works of Mel Bonis (at least to the degree of making it an integral part of the structure), requires an unusually active engagement of the entire body for such a lyrical piece, turning every performance into an intensively physical experience. As a consequence, despite its gentle and seemingly calm character, there is a sense of urgency that accompanies every phrase.
Sorrente, Op. 61
Sorrente likely refers to Sorrento, a coastal town in southwestern Italy. According to Mayer, this piece is a “miniature melodrama”, a musical form widely popular at the turn of the century. A love poem by the same title, written by Cécile Guinand accompanies this piece, evoking imagery from the nature as observed through the eyes of a couple of lovers—a terrace, sailboats, waves, doves, and the hope of their brief time together lasting for an eternity.
Barcarolle en mi bémol majeur, Op. 71
Her last barcarolle is one of her most sophisticated pieces, which builds upon the ideas that she used in the other two. The rising and descending arpeggios create a fluid effect of the flowing water, while the melody, which is intermittently accompanied by a subtle counterpoint, creates a positive and cheerful character worthy of a true gondoliere. Essentially three-partite, the middle section features a sudden departure from the home key of Eb Major, introducing a surprising rhapsodic section in the remote key of A Major, reminiscent of works by Franz Liszt. Once more, the whole-tone scales make an appearance at the very end, before ultimately reverting to the home key through a series of highly interesting progressions.
The brief departure from conventional tonal constructs, particularly at the close of larger sections, is one of the defining characteristics of her mature compositional technique. Observing her later compositions, we can notice a dichotomy between progressive and traditional, creating a portal, which allowed her to wander effortlessly between the two worlds.
Echo, Op. 89 and Narcisse, Op. 90
Both pieces were composed in 1910, one of the most productive years of her career. They are likely based on Ovid’s myth Narcissus and Echo. The nymph Echo, famous for being rather talkative and always wanting to have the last word, crosses Juno, queen of goddesses, who curses her, making her annoying habit Echo’s only means of communication—the ability to respond, yet not to initiate a conversation. One day, she follows the handsome hunter Narcissus through the woods, falling in love with his otherworldly beauty; Narcissus, realizing that he is being followed shouts “who’s here?”, to which Echo, cursed by Juno, can only repeat his very words.
Narcissus wanted nothing to do with Echo, which incurred the wrath of Nemesis, the goddess of revenge, who decided to punish him for breaking Echo’s heart. One day, thirsty, leaning over the waters of a spring, Nemesis shows him a reflection from his youth; mesmerized by his own image and unable to avert his gaze, Narcissus withers away, turning into the flower that today bears his name.
While compact, both works exhibit an incredibly intricate texture, showing how far her compositional technique has evolved over the years. Displaced imitations, flowing scales, as well as intricate rhythms make them rich and varied, and put even the finest pianist to the test.
In her Op. 89, Bonis captures Echo’s delicate and playful character beautifully. The sorrow and passion are obviously present, too, yet the piece ends in a surprisingly optimistic and charming manner. The echo effect is reserved for the left hand, which crosses over the right—a technique that performers familiar with her piano compositions are more than accustomed to. Worthy of a true impressionist, the echo effect seems to obey, or at least mimic the laws of physics; sometimes it is fast, other times slow, based on the material that it stems from.
Narcisse’s character is mirrored in the seemingly free structure; the material is through-composed, purposely engineered to sound somewhat disorganized, quirky, and capricious. The texture is riddled with displaced and overlapping counterpoints, as well as constant and complex meter changes, notated using composite time signatures. The resulting effect makes it often sound like some sort of structured improvisation, further stressing Narcisse’s unrestrained personality.
L’ange gardien, Op. 99
The Guardian Angel once more makes extensive use of hand-crossings, which make it possible for the melodic line to seamlessly transition between registers, constantly playing with our expectations by shifting our focal point. The middle section resembles a Lisztian recitative, a rather unusual feature among her piano pieces.
Il pleut, Op. 102
It Rains is a compact, light-hearted, juvenile, and fresh composition, not free of technical challenges. The texture evokes the effect of gentle rain drops, but the overall character is joyous, much like spring showers, alternating between sunshine and rain, with the occasional downpour also making its appearance.
La cathédrale blessée, Op. 107
By contrast, The Wounded Cathedral is one of her largest works for solo piano; and, as it was largely inspired by the horrors of the first World War, one of the darkest, too. As the title suggests, resonance plays an important role, and the performer has the freedom to experiment with various effects to create a rich palette of colors. Essentially, this piece is a funeral march, stressed by the Dies irae, which we can hear twice in the inner section—as a recitative-like statement in the baritone register, and subsequently as an afterthought at the very high extremity of the instrument.
As most French piano repertoire from this period, the harmonic language is extremely complicated, often wondering away from the tonal center through series of progressions and modulations. The seemingly random chord sequences challenge our senses, as we have to keep finding new colors for each new chord.
Au crépuscule, Op. 111
At Dusk marks the beginning of the transition into her late creative period. Much like Brahms, who explored condensed forms during his last years, particularly with his collections Opp. 116–119, Bonis turned to miniatures. While most of her piano works err on the shorter side to begin with, no composition after this one exceeds three minutes in length; in fact, half of them last less than two.
At Dusk is another quintessentially impressionist work. Bonis paints a pastoral scenery, which is slowly revealed to the listener, almost symbolizing the sunrise, from the very first rays that show us mere glimpses of the landscape, to the bright daylight, which unveils the vista in all its glory.
Près du moulin, Op. 115
By the Mill is another representation of a common rural scene. The clockwork eight-note motion illustrates the continuous motion of the mill, while the middle section briefly turns our attention to the freely flowing water, passing the melodic line between hands in sweeping descending gestures.
Cinq pièces pour piano
Another collection of Five Piano Pieces, initially published in 1929, contains a medley of miniatures. “Une flûte soupier” (A Flute Sighs), Op. 117 is a charming piece inspired by the wind instrument. The manuscript contains the following quotation by Victor Hugo: “Come, an invisible flute is sighing in the gardens.” Pieces such as Beethoven’s Symphony No. 6, commonly known as the “Pastoral”, and his Violin Sonata No. 5, or “Spring Sonata”, helped establishing F Major as the key of choice for portraying pastoral themes. Although Bonis wrote this miniature in the key of B-flat Major, it opens on its dominant—F Major. A later transcription for flute and piano was published in 1936.
The “Berceuse triste” (Sad Lullaby), Op. 118 initially evokes a nostalgic and melancholic mood, yet shifts from the key of B Minor to B Major half-way through, ending on a more optimistic note.
With her “Boston valse ou valse lente” (Boston Waltz or Slow Waltz), Op. 119, she pays homage to the new streams that were making their way to Europe from overseas. The light-hearted miniature stands in stark contrast to the “Agitato”, Op. 120, which stands out from her opus due to its almost apprehensive mood, ultra-compact form, and intricacy, challenging even the most seasoned performer.
Resonance plays an important role in her “Clolches lontaines” (Distant Bells), Op. 121, which calls for extensive, clever use of the pedal, timing, and various tone colors. All works by Mel Bonis showcase a variety of dynamic shades and contrasts; however, what sets this piece apart from the rest of her piano repertoire is the extensive use of soft dynamics, particularly at the very end, likely mimicking the fading echo of the bells.
Sévillana, Op. 125 and Ariel, Op. 129, Posthumous
Both composed in 1925, their refreshing and playful characters make them exuberant exceptions among her more introverted works. The Sévillana evokes syncopated Spanish rhythms and harmonies, as well as an open sound, which the composer accents by doubling the leading voice and supporting it with full-bodied chords. Once more, the whole-tone scale makes an appearance, leading into a calm and rather sensual coda, which suddenly and surprisingly transforms into a grand final gesture.
Ariel, Op. 129, published posthumously, is an enigmatic piece, witty and seemingly disorganized, which makes it particularly difficult to approach and interpret. Furthermore, it offers a rare glimpse into the creative process of Bonis, which was not always entirely free of obstacles. In this case, several versions of this piece have been attempted and discarded, prompting her to finally publish it under the pseudonym of Mélas Benissouvski, an ironic version of her own name.
Etude de concert en sol bémol majeur, Op. 136, Posthumous
Her penultimate work for piano, the Concert Etude in G-flat Major, is essentially a recapitulation of her stylistic traits. Virtuosic arpeggios, passed in ascending and descending gestures flow seamlessly between both hands, and seemingly endless melodic lines embedded in this rich texture evoke lush 19th-century sonorities. As the piece progresses, increasingly more complex structures emerge, culminating in a coda that abandons the traditional romantic vocabulary. It makes use of octatonic and whole-tone scales, both heavily altered, before ultimately returning to simplicity, which she finds in the home key.
Dolorosa, Op. 138, Posthumous
Her last work for piano solo, and one of her last works overall was written in 1932 to mourn the loss of her youngest son, Edouard, who passed away tragically during a business trip to Egypt. Mélanie dedicated this musical eulogy to her daughter-in-law, the young widow François Domange.
Program notes written by Rok Palcic